


Command and Conquer

by voxangelus



Series: If Greg's Office Walls Could Talk [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: come_at_once, Dom Lestrade, Light BDSM, M/M, Sub Mycroft, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft shows Greg that grey hair is very, very attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command and Conquer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kedgeree11 (kedgeree)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/gifts).



> Written for Kedgeree11's prompt of "what have you done to your hair?!" 
> 
> Unbeta'd - kindly point out any glaring errors :)

The box sat on the bathroom counter. Mocking him. Or challenging him. Greg wasn’t quite sure which. All he knew was he had to do something about his hair. He looked old. He couldn’t get a date, which was a deplorable state of affairs (or lack thereof). The dye was ‘temporary’, 7-14 washes. Not a huge commitment - he was just trying it on. Well, it wasn’t going to apply itself. He opened the box, snapped on the plastic gloves, and got to work. 

 

The next morning, he realized he’d made a horrible mistake as he walked through the bullpen to his office. The wolf whistles and sarcastic comments made that pretty clear. Now he just looked like he was trying too hard. At least the dye wouldn’t last that long. 

He was picking at his (late) lunch that afternoon when a shadow fell across his desk. He glanced up to see Mycroft Holmes standing there, a file in his hand, apparently speechless. Greg raised an eyebrow in challenge, as if to say ‘what?’ The last thing he needed was Sherlock’s handsome posh brother making sarky comments about his coiffure. He’d got quite enough of that from Sally and Dimmock, thank you very much. 

“What in the world have you done to your hair?” Mycroft finally sputtered, reaching out toward Greg before realizing what he was doing and snatching his hand back. 

“What does it look like? I dyed it. I know I look an idiot. Thankfully it’s temporary,” Greg grumbled, pushing the remains of his sandwich away. “Thought it’d make me look younger, instead of all the gray, you know?” 

Mycroft shook his head. “I most certainly do not know. Why would you want to cover that gorgeous silver hair?” 

“Gorgeous?” Greg asked, incredulous. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on. It wasn’t doing me any favors. Can’t get a date to save my life and I’m tired of being alone.”

“Have you considered trying to find dates somewhere other than pubs frequented by twentysomethings with daddy issues?” Mycroft inquired. 

“Oi, piss off. Been trying online dating, if you must know.”

Mycroft reached over and shut the office door with a decided click, then closed the blinds for good measure. “You really have no idea how incredibly attractive you are, do you?” He asked, bracing his hands on Greg’s desk and leaning over it. 

Greg was a bit wide-eyed by that point and just shook his head. Mycroft was calling _him_ attractive? Maybe he was still high off hair-dye fumes from the night before. Mycroft didn’t do this. He swept in, delivered instructions in that cool, posh tone, and swept back out. He most certainly did not _flirt_. 

“The silver hair certainly wasn’t your only attractive feature, but it set everything off so well. Made you look commanding,” Mycroft said, his voice dipping into the lower register, “confident. Competent. Certainly there are those who appreciate such qualities. Myself, for instance.” 

Really, now? Wasn’t that interesting. “I can see how you might find that appealing,” Greg allowed, sitting back in his chair. “Man like you, with no time for nonsense and games.” He had no idea what was happening here, but damned if he wasn’t going to roll with it as long as possible. 

“Oh yes. I imagine you just take what you want once something tempting has been offered to you. No dithering about,” Mycroft went on, still leaning over the desk in what most would assume was a dominant position, but with the way he was talking? It was all a show, and Greg knew it. The pieces fell into place. Call it instinct or just finely honed observatory talent - Mycroft was as good as making that offer. The question was, would Greg be bold enough to take him up on it, in broad daylight, in his office? Chances were if he turned Mycroft down now, the offer would never be made again. Greg was far too intrigued to let that happen. 

“That’s a fair and correct assessment, Mycroft,” Greg said, meeting his gaze. 

Mycroft offered a thin smile, straightening up. “I thought so. Now, Detective Chief Inspector - I have,” he glanced at his watch, “seventeen and a half minutes before my car will return.” 

“Then I think you’d better come over here and put that time to good use,” Greg suggested, pushing back from the desk. It’d been ages since he’d even touched another person beyond a handshake and a slap on the back, and he was eager to get his hands on Mycroft. Or get Mycroft’s hands on him. Either. Both. 

The younger man loosened his tie and discarded his jacket before coming around the desk to stand in front of Greg. “Sir?” he inquired, as he stood in front of him. 

Oh God. That should not be as attractive as it was, but it was heady, having the bloody British government in front of him, ready and willing to do as commanded. “Down,” Greg murmured. Mycroft complied immediately, kneeling between Greg’s legs. He looked up, arousal and mischief in his eyes. Grinning, Greg leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Yes?” 

“Please.” 

“Good boy,” Greg growled, clasping the back of Mycroft’s neck as he took his mouth in a hard kiss that left them both panting and Greg, at least, straining against the confines of his trousers. Oh, did he ever want more of that - but they were pressed for time. He sat back up, slouching a bit in the chair. “Look what you’ve done to me with that wicked mouth of yours.” 

Mycroft shuffled forward, nuzzling along his inner thigh. “Shall I take care of that for you, sir?” he asked, rubbing his cheek along Greg’s cock through his trousers. 

“I think you’d damned well better,” Greg replied, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. Mycroft took over from there, sliding the zipper down with his teeth. He tugged Greg’s boxers down next, then looked up at him. 

“May I suck your cock, Detective Chief Inspector?” 

It had to be illegal for Mycroft to look that bloody good kneeling between his legs, saying things like that, as though he wasn’t the one doing Greg a favour. Especially in that suit. On the floor of his office. “You may,” Greg acquiesced. “You have fourteen minutes remaining before your car arrives, and you’ll want to put yourself back together before that. Better make it quick.”

Mycroft smirked at him and swirled his tongue over the head of Greg’s prick, lapping up the salty drops of precome gathered there. “Yes, sir.” And then he fell to in earnest, still making eye contact. Greg was pretty sure he could think for days and not come up with an adequate description for Mycroft's skill at sucking cock. His mouth was hot and wet, and the things he was doing with his tongue? He was sure he’d never had quite that much attention paid to his fraenulum before. Mycroft sucked him with perfect pressure, then eased off for a moment. “Will you fuck my mouth, sir? Please, feel free to be as rough as you’d like.”

Well, he certainly didn’t have to ask twice. Greg groaned, sliding his fingers into Mycroft’s hair at the nape of his neck. “Fuck, yes,” he managed to gasp, bucking his hips up. Mycroft hummed around him, creating suction but allowing Greg to control everything else. He glanced at the clock. Eleven minutes. He stood, and Mycroft moved with him, never breaking contact. He grasped the edge of his desk with his free hand, leaving the other in Mycroft’s hair as he thrust into his mouth over and over, pulling back every so often to let the other man get a breath. The utter trust in Mycroft’s eyes was the sexiest damn thing he’d seen in a long time, and it wasn’t long before he was spilling into Mycroft’s throat as he swallowed around him. 

Greg sank into his chair, panting. “Jesus Christ, Mycroft,” he muttered, utterly wrecked.

“Mmm. Indeed. Thank you, Gregory. I quite needed that,” Mycroft replied, pressing one last kiss to Greg’s cock before tucking him back into his boxers. He got to his feet in a fluid motion, all grace and long legs, straightened his tie, and slipped his jacket back on. “Thank you for indulging me. I trust you’ll take my advice about your hair.” 

Greg nodded. “I have it on good authority that it makes me look commanding.” 

Mycroft opened the blinds, glancing out into the office. “It does.” He reached for the door handle. 

“Mycroft. Dinner. The next night you’re free.” 

Greg cherished the look of pleasant surprise on Mycroft’s face. “As sir wishes.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Red Alert](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765781) by [Dryad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad)




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